Revolve
by Cycoranne
Summary: Too much white, too much silence, not enough pain.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Kingdom Heart.

**I will eat your flames, and shit them back out at you. Be prepared.**

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The door flew open.

It was everywhere— this sickening darkness, paired with the roar of coarse silence. He couldn't stand it; couldn't face it. No matter where he went, it always seemed to follow, leaving cold glares and harsh words trailing after him. The voices rang in his head, clouding his best judgment, leaving him on the edge of reality and emotion. This flood of faceless people was too hard to handle; too much pressure on his part.

A hand slid along stainless steel; over the burning cold of the knobs, knuckles tight with tension. He stumbled across the blackened kitchen, stopping to fumble across the many handles of drawers, searching. Fingers slid over hard metal.

Sora shuddered.

Taking a firm grip on the cheap, plastic handle, he slid the cooking utensil out from its place. He held it up, dulled sapphires examining the sharpened knife, following the serrated edge with little emotion. A sudden wave of fear and anxiety rushed over him, making his hand holding the lethal piece of metal tremble. His grip tightened.

No, he'd had enough of this.. This _emptiness_. He hated the way his family flashed him those fake smiles, how his friends seemed to slowly, but purposefully, drifting away from him, straight out of his life. The fear was soon replaced by the feeling of pure raw _hate_ and white hot_ anger_. The thin ledge between life and sensation cracked and burst, sending him toppling away, far from the reality his eyes displayed him for the last sixteen years of his life. He fell, long and fast, into the depths of his imagination.

He raised an exposed wrist, tracing the pulsating blue vein just below the skin with the very tip of his knife. It left a small, ragged, paper cut-like line. He set the blade gently on his tanned skin, crossing the vein that flowed with thick crimson blood. Sora took a deep breathe, and sliced. Instead of the expected rush of pain, maybe even a bit of nausea, all he felt was his hot blood, which seeped rapidly out of the deep gash. All in all, he felt nothing.

That only angered him more.

With a growl, the knife was swiped across his arm once again, but the blood only dripped onto the linoleum below him. He cut more and more, until his arm was a mess of jaggedly split skin and crimson, his forearm completely covered. Enraged, he switched the stained knife into his other hand, and repeated his previous actions. The splattering of blood was the only thing to break the retched silence; the cherry red seemingly glowing in the suffocating darkness of the kitchen. One more slice, just one more..

Suddenly, Sora stopped, his ears picking up the unlocking of his front door. It was opened briefly, before being shut against the chilly October winds, a melodic laugh coming soon after. There was the faint sound of talking before the person gave another chuckle, murmuring a reply into his phone.

"Oi! Sora, you here?" A deep voice called cheerfully, the volume making the brunette's ears ring, the dull thumping of footsteps growing closer to the kitchen entry. Something wet slid down Sora's neck, before being soaked into his t-shirt; more followed soon after. He hesitantly brought a slick hand up, wiping his cheek with his blood. He was.. Crying?

He blinked, sending more of the salty tears to pour down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his cheek. Sora let out a choked sob as a head of blonde hair poked out from around the corner, phone still pressed to his ear.

"Alright, alright Leon, I'll tell him you—_Holy shit_!" The knife clattered to the floor, along with Sora's lithe form, landing with a dull thud in his own puddle of blood.

"Sora? Sora?! Oh my god. L-Leon, I need you to get over here. Sora.. Sora, he's.. Oh god."

As he cracked a heavy eyelid, there was a rush of color and uniformed people, still faceless, and still frighteningly. It seemed as though slow motion, though Sora could hear no noise, nor make out what they were mouthing at him. The only thing he could see, however, was the mirrored expressions of his brother and his brother's best friend, both tear stained and pale, looking straight at him as the ambulance's doors shut.

Only one thought kept shouting itself in his head, in a voice that slowly lulled him to stale darkness.

_Too much white, too much silence, not enough pain. Too much white, too much silence, __**not enough pain.. **_

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**I know it's short, and I know it's totally OOC, but it DOES have a plot that I plan to manipulate and torture to do my bidding. So, stick around?**_**  
**_


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